


Distance

by goddessofcruelty



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Romance Novel, Angst, M/M, Medicinal Drug Use, Pining, Scarred Peter Hale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-14
Updated: 2014-09-14
Packaged: 2018-02-17 09:35:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2305010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goddessofcruelty/pseuds/goddessofcruelty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Turning, Lord Hale encounters the second greatest shock of his life, Mr. Argent the Younger faces him, and though many years ago, in their boyhood, they were close, though secret, friends, he sees no recognition in those eyes. Until the scars register. He can see the changes in emotion flash across the other man's face, and he quickly discovers that he has no wish to hear whatever Christopher Argent might be preparing to say.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Distance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [corullance](https://archiveofourown.org/users/corullance/gifts).



> Prompt: Oh, Oh, straight up Jane Austen type thing. Regency era. “My word!” “How very pulchritudinous” “VERILY!” Ok, so they don’t say verily in Jane Austen :P You know what I mean :D (Petopher obv. :P)
> 
> Note: I’ve been reliably informed that this doesn’t exactly conform to Regency standards, however, that would require research, etc. and I am lazy.

A cold wind sweeps along the street, making those fortunate enough to have cloaks clutch them more tightly around themselves. The chill, however, doesn't seem to touch the man who pushes open the door of the shop, standing straight and tall as he removes his hat and nods to the woman behind the counter. Whispers follow him, he knows, hushed voices speaking of his scars, or the family he's lost. Or even accusations that he, himself, was the one who began the blaze, seeking the family fortune for himself. There's no defense against the slanderous rumours, and he's never felt the need to defend his honor against them. He has little use for those who indulge in gossips.

“Lord Hale,” the woman greets him civilly, and he turns to face her, appreciating her demeanour, the way she's never once blanched at his scars or looked past them.

“Mrs. Argent,” he returns, cerulean gaze briefly distracted by the arrival of a breathless girl through the curtain separating the back.

“Mother!” she gasps, color high in her cheeks, “Mother-”

“Katherine.” Mrs. Argent's voice snaps out like a whipcrack, halts the girl in her steps. “What will Lord Hale think of you?”

The woman turns back to face her guest. “If you'll excuse me a moment, my Lord, it seems I must have a discussion with my daughter.”

He nods stiffly, turns to peruse the displayed works of armour and other sundry firearms, until a masculine voice sounds behind him, polite in its courtesy. “Do you require assistance, sir?”

Turning, Lord Hale encounters the second greatest shock of his life, Mr. Argent the Younger faces him, and though many years ago, in their boyhood, they were close, though secret, friends, he sees no recognition in those eyes. Until the scars register. He can see the changes in emotion flash across the other man's face, and he quickly discovers that he has no wish to hear whatever Christopher Argent might be preparing to say.

“No. I'm.. I've just recalled another appointment,” he blurts awkwardly, and then sweeps through the door before any other words can be exchanged.

-

“ _Lord Hale, may I have this dance?”_

_Peter cannot resist that voice, or that tone of gentle mockery. Or indeed those sparkling blue eyes._

“ _But of course, Lord Argent.” He inclines his head regally and offers his arm to the older boy, who sweeps him around into a waltz that only they can hear, amidst the sighing of the leaves and the soft chirping of the birds who make their home in the Preserve._

_Peter thinks things would be much easier were they both lords, free to marry one another. That will never be, and there's a bittersweet sadness in this dance, likely their last, for Christopher goes away to school a week hence, and Peter will be left to his own devices again. The youngest of five is not looked on to make much of himself._

_Christopher will come back as Young Mr. Argent, with education and looked on to make a suitable match to further his family's mercantile ambitions. Peter must wait until someone with an acceptable bloodline requests him. Once they've gone through the line of siblings._

_Christopher brings their dance to an end and rests his palm along the younger boy's cheek._

“ _You will always be my truest, dearest love, Peter.”_

_Peter looks down and away, the high flush of color suffusing his cheeks._

“ _Is it not the same with you?” Christopher queries worriedly at Peter's silence._

“ _You are well aware that it is, but also know it can never be.”_

_Christopher brings the younger boy's chin up, blue-gray eyes boring into his. “I will find a way, Peter Hale.”_

-

The night terrors come again that night, the heat melting his skin, the smell of burning flesh filling his nostrils. Peter awakens screaming, bed clothes soaked through, hand shaking as he reaches for his laudanum and doses himself into a blank unconsciousness.

Peter is still abed when he is awoken by his manservant, querying if he is in for callers.

Lord Hale has not had a caller in two years.

Peter's still enough under the throes of the medicine that he does not think to enquire the identity of the visitor, and this he is again surprised by the younger Mr. Argent.

Peter nods a brusque greeting, letting himself study the other man as he had not previously, satisfying himself as to the general good health and cheerful countenance of his former...friend.

(Peter insists, even when alone, that the charmed trysts were fleeting fantasy and never truly had meaning.)

“You are looking well,” he says formally, “Can I offer you some tea?” He pours after Christopher's nod and then settles back as the older man leans forward.

“My..parents..were concerned that you might not be altogether well, and..requested..I express my family's wishes for for your health.”

“I am as well as can be expected,” Peter nods decisively. The continued difficulties in the evening hours and scars notwithstanding, Peter considers himself to be in tolerable health.

Christopher nods and there are brief moments of light discussion, before Christopher takes a deep breath, settles his cup and saucer down with a faint thump and fixes those intense eyes on the Lord Hale.

“Peter,” he begins, which causes the man in question to immediately rise.

“Please give my regards to your family, Mr. Argent. Good day.”

Christopher rises, a stubborn set to that jaw, that Peter knows well, but he is no longer a pliant youth, and he has learned to be steadfast as well.

“Peter, please.”

“My man will see you out.” Peter turns and leaves Christopher Argent behind a second time.

-

Lord Peter Hale stands in front of the doors to his balcony, watching the rain sheeting off the glass, eyes alighting with each flash across the sky.

One such flash illuminates something moving in the storm, and the Lord leans forward, peering, watching, and then again, the horse and rider, for such it was, floundering through the swollen creek.

The rider looks up to the manor just as another light splits the sky and Peter sees very clearly the face of the boy he had loved as he falls from his mount.

Peter's moving without thinking, rushing into the storm without so much as a cape to protect his clothing from the downpour. He think, perhaps, one of the servants calls after him, but he can only hear the imagined cry of Christopher's voice as he goes under the surface of the river.

It takes far too long for the Lord to find the spot, familiar grounds turned into nightmarish landscape by the storm and his fear, but find it he does, Christopher lying prone on the bank.

With herculean strength he was unaware he possessed, Peter lifts the older man into his arms, staggers with his burden back towards the warm glow of his domicile.

It's not until Christopher is settled before the fire, wrapped in several layers of blanket that Peter can think to ask what reason the older man could have for such an endeavour.

Christopher manages to suggest something mildly coherent about the river overrunning its banks, he feared the manor was in the direct path, and felt he must bear warning.

The Lord cannot bear to inform the shivering man that he has things well in hand, and his lands have a special egress for overflow. Instead he murmurs gratitude and dares to brush a hand through Christopher's hair until the older man drifts into exhausted slumber.

He sends word of Christopher's misadventure to his family at first opportunity, and has him ensconced in the room down the hall the was once Peter's brothers.

At long last, Peter finds his bed, longing for a dreamless sleep. It is not meant to be.

Once again, the Lord wakes himself screaming and reaches for the laudanum, however this time, there's a strong hand clamping around his wrist. His houseguest, it seems, has recovered from his ordeal.

“Peter,” he begins, but the younger man shakes off his concern.

“This is hardly appropriate,” he begins, but Christopher has left his manners in the rain, and quiets the Lord in the first way he can think of.

He silences Peter with a kiss., and he keeps at it until the younger man acquiesces, allows himself to be tucked into warm arms, to be held, to dismiss the consequences that will come on the morrow.

For now, he rests in Christopher's arms, and sleep, when it comes, is peaceful.


End file.
